"Of course, that would sound a lot better if I'd worked it out for myself instead of being told it by someone even older than the Vorlons, but what are you going to do, hmm?"
"I'm going to listen to you, it appears. So what do I do next?"
"Gather allies. Narn, Centauri, Drazi, Minbari.... even us. Tell them the truth. Tell them we can do this by ourselves. Once enough of us know, and believe, then there won't be a thing the Vorlons can do about it. Not one single thing."
"Believe it or not, that was exactly my plan. I may not be as military–minded as you or the First seem to think."
She shrugged. "Ah, well. There you go. Looks like I was a little redundant after all."
"I wouldn't say that. All alliances have to begin somewhere after all." Sinoval extended his hand. A human gesture, but one whose meaning he understood, and even respected after a fashion. "You know who I am."
"Oh, yes." She took it. "I'm Susan Ivanova. Nice to meet you."
* * *
"David, I'm sorry. What can I say? We examined the Dark Star Three and.... there was a fuel line rupture. It could have gone undetected for years, and it really couldn't be fixed. We decided it was better to.... well, scuttle it. We did tell you."
"No, John. You didn't."
John Sheridan sighed. "I'm sorry. We did send a message to you. Something obviously happened. Look, I'm sorry, but you saw a lot of action in that ship. It was bound to happen. I know how.... attached we can get to our ships sometimes. I felt the same way with the Babylon. Look, the new Dark Star line will be ready in just a couple of months. I'll guarantee you the first one we get. And your crew as well. What do you say to that?"
What could he say? He could still hear Carolyn screaming. He would always hear her screaming. She would scream forever, her soul, her mind, her personality absorbed into that terrible network.
And now more Dark Star fleets were coming. More trapped telepaths. More nameless screams.
"David, I've got to go. There's a meeting with the Drazi Ambassador any minute now. They want increased patrols around their border. Something about the Streib. They're a bit.... touchy at the moment. God knows, it took Delenn long enough to get them to change their mind about taking Kazomi Seven back. I'll talk to you later."
The signal ended, and David reeled back. Carolyn was still screaming.
There was nothing wrong with the Agamemnon. There had never been anything wrong with it. And to scuttle a ship without even informing its captain! No, that was wrong. That was all wrong.
We decided it was better to scuttle it.
Who was 'we'?
"What was the point of this?" he whispered. "I couldn't save you, Carolyn. I told you I would look after you.... and.... I lied. I told you....
"I couldn't save you.
"Just like I couldn't save Mary."
What was the point of it all? All that fighting, all those deaths. He could see them all. Mary and Marcus and Michael and Susan and Carolyn and his parents and family and friends and home.
And why? What the hell was it all for in the end?
His hand touched something cold and hard. He looked at it.
It was his PPG.
He had loved Mary, and all she was now was a pile of ash and a plaque. If he hadn't been fighting this war, he could have been with her. They could have had this last year–and–a–half together. Maybe he would even have noticed her illness. Maybe he could have done something.
Maybe he could have saved her life. Maybe they would still be together.
He could see her in front of him.
Maybe they could be together again.
She was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't hear her. Carolyn's screaming filled his mind.
"I love you," he sobbed, his body racked with pain. The weapon felt so solid in his hand.
Maybe they could be together again.
No one needed him now. No one. Nothing. Mary was gone. Carolyn was gone. Susan was gone. John was a stranger to him now. Delenn was safe, with her own life and her own mission.
No one needed him now.
"I love you, Mary.
"I'll be with you soon."
He raised the PPG to his head.
* * *
The voices had almost stopped now. In fact they had stopped dead as he set foot on the hard ground of his new home and looked up at the sky.
He could feel its fear now. It was afraid. The Vorlons were here. The Rangers were here. The technomages were here. They would destroy it if they found it.
But they would not. He would protect it. It was a part of him now.
He found himself missing Centauri Prime already, but he had had to leave. He had to come here.
Lennier walked forward, looking for the Ranger Headquarters. He had been away from them for a while. It was time to serve his calling again.
* * *
The gun jerked upwards as it fired. There was a blast of heat and he fell backwards. The muscles in his hand loosened and the PPG fell to the ground.
David stood up and looked around. Lyta was standing in the doorway. She took a step inside and the door closed behind her.
"They're trying to kill you," she said simply.
"What?" Tears streaked his face, but he didn't notice them. For the first time he could see something new, and she filled his vision. She was the only thing he could see.
"They're trying to kill you. They're trying to make you kill yourself. Don't let them win, David."
"Who...? Why would anyone try to kill me?"
"The Vorlons. David.... the war's over. They're trying to mop up loose ends. That's all you are to them now. A loose end. You.... think too clearly. You have too much compassion. You're a potential threat to them, and so they want you dead."
"They killed Carolyn. They destroyed my ship and they killed her."
"I know," she whispered, moving up close to him. A spasm of pain flashed across her face. "I felt it. She was too independent. She knew her own name, and that was too much for them."
"Then it was my fault," he whispered. "What they did to her was.... my fault. If I hadn't talked to her, hadn't tried to.... free her, then...."
"No!" she snapped. "It was not your fault. It would never be your fault. They are the ones who stuck her in there. They are the ones who killed her. They're the ones who tried to force you to kill yourself. And they're the ones who are going to stick me in that damned network of theirs if they get the chance."
"You? Lyta, get out of here! Now! Don't let them...."
She put one finger on his mouth, silencing him. "I was going," she said. "I was. Then I.... sensed your pain. I sensed what they were doing to you. I couldn't let them kill you. So.... I came back. I couldn't let them kill you, David. We'll need you. All of us will. You are a good man. Don't let them win."
"What was the point of it all, Lyta? All that fighting, and for what? How are we better off than we were before?"
"We aren't.... but it isn't over yet. The war, the true war, isn't over. I'm going to find Sinoval. I'm going to join him, and help him as much as I can. He's the only one who scares them. He's the only one who can...."
"Lyta.... someone I loved died recently. Was that them, too? Was it just a coincidence I learned about it today?"
"It may have been," she whispered. "They'll do whatever is necessary to get what they want."
"I can't bear this," he cried. "Another war! I just want it over."
"So do I," she said softly.
Then she kissed him.
* * *
"After all this time.... I can hardly believe it."
Delenn smiled. For as long as either of them could remember, they had known only war. It had begun over a decade and a half ago, and those years had been marked by suffering and loss and heartache. Both of them had lost far too many they loved. She had said goodbye to Draal, Neroon, Jenimer, Dukhat, her father. He had lost his entire family, so many friends. Both of them had lost their son.
And now it was o
ver.
"What will we do now?" she asked, still smiling.
John looked at her. "Hmm?"
"Well.... we now no longer have the entire galaxy to save every morning before breakfast, so we will have to find something else to occupy our time. No doubt it will be very boring."
He smiled with her. "I think boredom is something I can get used to. It'll be a change if nothing else, but I don't think we can start planning a glorious retirement just yet."
"No. After all, we do have to rebuild everything that was destroyed."
"And make it better this time."
"Exactly. We have an opportunity to make everything better this time around. But I don't think the galaxy will begrudge us a little time to ourselves. After everything we've done, we deserve a little holiday."
"And what to do with all that free time, I wonder?"
John suddenly turned serious. "Delenn, I.... I know that things have been difficult, but it's all changing now. I can feel it. Everything will be better now, and.... We've both got the rest of our lives ahead of us, and I....
"I'd like to spend that time with you. I'd like to spend as much of my time as I can with you."
She smiled again. "John.... nothing would make me happier."
* * *
They came like thieves in the night. It had taken them a long time to find him, longer than they had anticipated, but ultimately he was one of theirs. And waking or sleeping, telepaths were never far from their creators.
It was a secret station, hidden in a dead area of space, a place where Alfred Bester could watch and wait and gather allies. He had pitifully few allies and far too many enemies, but he had accepted that state of affairs with necessary stoicism. He had burned far too many of his own bridges to cry about it now.
Ah, but victory.... if he had only won that desperate gambit, then the galaxy would be a very different place. He had failed, yes, but it was a failure such as few even dreamed of.
And he had been content to wait. The war was raging, Shadow against Vorlon, Chaos against Order, Darkness against Light. While it raged, he would be safe. When it finished, the victor would be free to look for the dark secrets of that bloody war.
He had prepared, but flight was the only real plan at the moment. He should have fled even deeper into the unknown, into hyperspace itself, to the Rim, to any number of dead worlds the Corps had discovered.
But he was waiting. Waiting for one last arrival, one person, without whom life meant nothing.
And then the Vorlons had found him, before she had.
Talia came across the dead space station Laton after months of searching, following half–forgotten memories, whispers across star systems and the dreams of dead men. She had heard a little of what was happening in the galaxy, and had been pleasantly surprised to learn of Dexter's successes on Proxima. But always her mind was on Bester.
And she was too late.
Laton was dead, destroyed, everyone on board with even a hint of telepathic ability taken. Talia remembered the screams of those trapped in the prisons of light and she shuddered. There could be nowhere for her to run now. Nowhere. That would be her fate now, an eternity of agony and slavery.
But even ancient races can make mistakes. Even Vorlons have sins, and the greatest of these is arrogance.
There was one person on that station still alive. Talia followed his plaintive psychic calls for help. He was wounded, badly, but he still lived. She spent weeks keeping him that way, missing the New Year, missing so many things. When he was fit enough, he told her what had happened.
He told her of the sudden attack from nowhere, of the sheer agony that had engulfed every telepath on the station, of the creatures that had attacked them all, indestructible, awesome, terrifying.
He told her how the others had been taken. All of them. Jason Ironheart, Harriman Grey, Matt Stoner, all the others. Even Alfred. He told her of Alfred's last instructions to him, a whisper in his mind that he could not forget.
And then he asked her what they were going to do.
Talia thought about this for a few seconds, and then looked up. "We're going to get them all back. We're going to bring that network crashing down around their heads and free everyone trapped in it, and then we're going to destroy every single one of them."
Ari Ben Zayn did not hesitate. "Good," he said simply.
* * *
It was a place where the damned went to die, where the lost gathered to start at shadows, where the friendless, the alone, the forgotten.... where all of them could be found.
It was full now. There were many lost after the wars, the deaths, the pointless, constant killing. Criminals, refugees, bounty hunters, the just plain unlucky.... they were all here.
There was an inn, of course. Oh, different races might call it different things, but it was a place where the friendless went to drink themselves into blissful oblivion. The owner was a huge, one–eyed Drazi whose only words were the price of each drink, and who heard nothing but the orders.
The inn had no name. The world had no name. Most of the patrons had no names. It was that sort of place.
In the corner, in an area every bit as shadowed as the rest of the building, a man sat, drinking painful memories along with his lukewarm brivare. The vintage was surprisingly good, the memories still painful.
Her blood had been so bright, her eyes so dull. He would never hear her speak again, never hear her laugh, never stand at her wedding or watch his grandchildren play. There was so much he had never told her, and so much he never would.
He couldn't even go to her grave, to stand there and talk to her spirit. His Emperor, his best friend, the man to whom he had sworn his life.... had exiled him forever from his home.
Once he had been Lord–General Marrago, in charge of one of the mightiest war fleets in the galaxy. Now he was no one, one of the lost. No title, no name, no House, no family, no friends.
No one.
He wondered idly whom the Emperor had made the new Lord–General. He hoped it would be Carn. He was young, but he had talent and conviction and a certainty of what was right and what was wrong. He would be a good Lord–General.
On the other hand, the Emperor could have picked anyone, anyone at all, if he was even still alive. If Carn was still alive, for that matter.
It would not be difficult to find out. Information, along with alcohol, was the thing most commonly available here, for the right price, and the simple name of the Centauri Republic's new Lord–General would not be difficult, confidential or even hard to discover.
It was just that he did not want to. That life was behind him now. Let his successor have all the luck in the galaxy. He would need it.
He looked up sharply as three people arrived at once. Groups were rare here, and usually meant trouble. Anyone with friends was not the sort of person likely to end up here.
Two Narns and a Drazi. Neither a race likely to feel any affection for him. He had after all been responsible for leading the war effort against the Narns for three years, enlisting Shadow aid to do so, and in his younger days he had led assaults on the Drazi more than once.
It could be nothing. It could be absolutely nothing. Or they could be after someone else. Ninety percent of the entire planet's population must have a price on their head (or other appendage) for some reason or another. Bounty hunters were hardly unexpected, and they received little help here. Today's informer could be tomorrow's information, after all.
But there were always some too far gone to see that.
Slowly, trying not to attract undue attention, Marrago rose from his seat and shuffled towards the back exit. Naturally there was a back door probably six or seven, but he only knew of the one. He made a point of walking slowly, trying to hide his usual arrogant stride a legacy of the Court, that. He also hunched himself over, his cloak over his head. Look like no one. Attract no attention. You are no one. No one at all.
He reached the back door, stepped outside into a cold, dark alley, and walked
directly into a tall, finely dressed Centauri. For a moment their eyes met, and the Centauri smiled.
"It is you. My my, how the mighty have fallen, yes. From Lord–General to.... this."
"Durla," Marrago whispered. A former Palace Guardsman, dismissed years ago by the late Emperor Turhan after some scandal or another. His was a face Marrago had always remembered, a man consumed by ambition, a man he had always expected to see again one day.
Just not like this.
"The Emperor has put a price on your head, old man," Durla said. "A large price, for crimes against the Republic. As a dutiful servant of the Republic and the Emperor, I am honoured to be able to serve him in this matter."
"I'm gone and forgotten, Durla," Marrago whispered. "Leave me be and let me die."
"Funny, those are almost exactly the Emperor's orders.... except I was to hasten the death. He wants your body cold at his feet."
That was not Londo. Marrago knew that much. That was the Vorlons. Them and their human puppet. Londo had risked a lot getting Marrago off Centauri Prime. He had given him a head start, that was all.
"I found three individuals most agreeable to a deal," Durla continued. "None of them likes me very much, but they like you even less. Besides, they will have all the price on your head between them. I am not working for money, but for the good of the Republic."
Durla leaned in close. "I heard your daughter was killed. A pity. She was always very pretty. Did she look so pretty when she was dead, I wonder, her body cut apart? You know what they say in the capital, on the homeworld?"
"What?" Marrago whispered. His breath was hard and cold in his chest. Lyndisty.
"That you killed her."
Marrago moved, his spirit commanding what his aged muscles were willing to do. He grabbed Durla's throat and squeezed, hauling the former Guard into the air. Durla choked, but reacted quickly, kicking out. His boots caught Marrago's knees and ribs, and pain flared in his body, but he did not let go.
Something exploded in his back and he stumbled forward, his grip slackening. A second blow crashed onto the back of his skull, and he fell to his knees.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 75